Another Drink
by SpellboundWinter
Summary: Who needs a family when you could have a beer? Who needs friends when you could just drink another shot? Who needs a lover when you could have the bottle for yourself instead? Actually, who needs anyone? I'm fine by myself. Style and Stenny. One-shot.


**I wanted to write something about Stan's drinking issues and try out a different writting style as well. Woot. **

**Style and Stenny.**

* * *

I have no self control left.

Who needs a family when you could have a beer?

Who needs friends when you could just drink another shot?

Who needs a lover when you could have the bottle for yourself instead?

Actually, who needs anyone? I'm fine by myself.

I lift a weak finger up, signaling I was ready for the next round. A glass slides into the other ones, clinking slightly. I could almost see double of what was there. My perception lost, making it hard to gather it up into my palms.

With two tightly wrapping around the glass, like a toddler drinking out of a sippy cup, I couldn't wait to drink the poison that sloshed in the glass. I bring it to my lips anxiously. I gulp a little more as it comes gushing down my throat. Like a twisted and sick water slide, it scorches everything it touches until it stops at my belly.

Everything around me starts to disappear as well as my open wounds. I feel happy and once again, for now I can laugh. Things are wonderful, even for just a few minutes.

I set another glass to die on the bar in front of me. I can count to six... what comes after six? Kyle. Kyle comes after six. He's really the only thing on my mind. I can only think of him. Does he really hate me like he says he does? Or was he just angry?

There go the wounds again, opening up and starting to hurt so I lift a finger, signaling my next drink to heal it all up again.

What I don't notice is that Skeeter is glaring me down. I lift my finger higher, slurring messily... something that sounds like, 'one more.'

"It's about time you left," he says rather starkly. "You had enough by now, kid."

My eyebrows furrow as I lean over the bar at him. "I'll be the one to tell you when I've had enough!" I took my finger, jabbing it right into his chest. He didn't seem very amused, in fact, I had been coming here so often I think he hates me. Just another person who hates Stan Marsh.

The large redhead gives me a vicious grin. "Really now?" Skeeter eyes the bartender before yanking my shirt. The quick motion spilled some of the glasses, rolling over and onto the floor. "Why don't you get out of here before you really get hurt?"

"Fine," is all I muttered, searching my pockets. I throw a few bills and coins at his face in spite. "That's all I have."

The next thing I know, I'm being hauled off my feet by the two. I writhe, sputtering out as many obscenities I can. Then I go flying off and onto the cement, a mud puddle breaking my fall.

I can hear Skeeter shouts. "-and stay out if you don't have money, yer nuthin' but a worthless bum!"

The door slams shut and with it, the only source of light and sound. I bring myself to my feet, I'm soaked and covered in mud. It had rained, a lot actually. Now it was just damp out. Sticky and the smell of petrichor hanging in the air.

I didn't have anywhere to go. I'm drunk, sad and most importantly... alone. I didn't like being alone.

After a minute of shuffling, I find a nice alley to hide in for the night. I squeeze between Skeeter's bar and another building, curling myself up next to a dumpster. I let my head rest onto the cool, wet metal. My head begins to pound and the earth begins to spin on its own.

What did I do to deserve this? Why was everything taken from me? Why do I drink more of the stuff that killed-

I rummage through coat pockets, grabbing up a simple phone. I should call Kenny, my little caregiver but I don't. I wouldn't. I flip open the cell, looking through contacts to one particular number.

To call or not to call?

It rings, but only once. I know my number has been blocked, he hates me.

A seemingly electronic voice blared into my ears, _'Hello, the call that you have made cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again_'.

Hearing the phone's dial tone stop and the call end, I still want to tell Kyle how I felt... so I curse into the phone instead.

"Fuck you Kyle, you're a piece of shit."  
_...Kyle, I love you._

I hold my head in disgust, trying to hold back a loud sob.

"…Y-you're a piece of shit. You're… You're such a piece of shit."  
_Why did you leave me? ...I still love you._

I shut my flip phone with a loud clasp, pressing it into my forehead. I weep loudly, my chest convulsing and my limbs shaking. Maybe I should have spent more time with everyone. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten drunk all those times. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed Kyle away?

Maybe I shouldn't have been driving that night?

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

So, maybe there's some sort of moral to all this bullshit. Or there's not.

I know one thing is for certain.

I hear a shuffle in the alley, seeing a pair of ratty shoes. I crane my head up, wobbling slightly. I see an orange shirt... orange... It could only be one person. "K-Ky! Kyle," I had to bite my lips from stop my sputtering but it just kept leaving my lips in a mantra. "Kyle... Kyle… Kyle…"

The man kneeled down to my level. "I found you. Do you know how worried I've been? Jesus Christ, you've been drinking again, haven't you?"

"I-I'm sorry." I croaked, seeing the orange get closer and closer until…

I blacked out.

My eyes shoot open and I'm somewhere new. I see a large water stain in the ceiling. It was still dark out, that I could see. I shifted beside me, seeing the color orange but…

But…

Blonde shaggy locks. Not red curls… not Kyle. Not…

Kenny was sleeping peacefully beside me. His eyes were shut and his face was relaxed. It reminded me of… of-

I tried to focus on something else… He had smile lines. Long, slightly visible crevices in his skin. I had to chuckle a little, running a finger over the small wrinkles around his mouth. Kenny is always smiling. Before I knew it a blue eye peeked open and his smirk grew wide, filling in the wrinkles. "You're awake."

But, I didn't see Kenny. I willed myself to see Kyle. I wanted Kyle. I needed to see him again. "I've called you so much but you never answer," I let out small whimper, I tried not to cry. They were stinging my eyes but I refused to cry. "You still hate me, don't you Kyle?"

'Kyle' sat up, his eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not Kyle. Stan, I'm-"

"I love you. I love you… I do, I really do." I could feel hot tears starting pour down my face. "I killed you. You're dead and it's all my fault. I'm not strong like you."

I hold my face, my simple crying turning into fully fledged sobs, my voice strangled and my breath hitching ever so often. "Why couldn't have I died in that accident? It was a miracle that I survived but it's a curse. I have to go on living knowing I killed you."

Kyle let out a tiny sigh, drawing me up into his arms, letting me cry into his orange parka. He's heard this story a thousand times. I reach his lips, smashing mine to his, clawing desperately into his shoulders. "Please Ky, let's just pretend everything is okay for a little while… I'll let you go. I'll move on. I won't ever bother you again." I beg. Me. Stan Marsh, begging.

The boy looks down to me with a sullen expression. Kyle nods, embracing me close.

…

It's no use to pretend its okay.

It's not.

It never will be.

Never again.

I left Kenny's arms in the early morning, despite his groan of protest, ambling into the kitchen. I knew where the blonde left his stash of cheap liquor. I scoot a few poptart boxes out of the way and saw my prize. I yanked up the bottle close.

I have no self control left.

Who needs a family when you could have a beer?

Who needs friends when you could just drink another shot?

Who needs a lover when you could have the bottle for yourself instead?

Actually, who needs anyone? I'm fine by myself.

I remember that night. I remember his voice. It's as if it haunts me, like a spector of some kind. "You shouldn't be driving."

Kyle's last words to me weren't even complete. It happened so fast, the wheel jerking on black ice and going off into the trees.

I clasp the bottle in my arms like a child. I need to make it go away. I need to make his voice disappear.

It's ironic.

Ironic that I drink. It killed Kyle, the person I worshipped. And now, it seems like the same poison is the only thing to cure my memories. I want him to be erased feom my mind completely.

With each drink I'm closer to my goal.

Maybe one day, I'll forget about Kyle completely. Maybe I'm using Kenny for my own selfish gain.

That reminds me, I undo the top of the bottle and bring it to my lips.

I need another drink.


End file.
